The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-11-19

This was not very pleasant prospect,
you may be sure, especially after all the
walking we had already done that day;
but there was nothing else to be done,
so we started out, Juggling our poor little
prisoners with us.
We bad hardly gone two miles, when
Will sank down and said:
"Oh, Ned; can't walk another step,
I've blister on my foot as big es hens
egg"
/ proposed going on alone, and getting
a boat, and then I would pick him up on
the way back, but he wouldn't let me.
So we had to sit down and rest, and then
I thought, Perhaps I can persuade him
to go little further" But that did not
work, for long before he began to be in
the least rested, it had grown SO dark
we could scarcely see.
Poor Will, don't wonder he was tired,
he was whole year younger than I was
and not half as strong, and walk like
that is enough to tire out any eleven
year-old boy.
We did not much fancy the idea of
staying out all night, and what made it
more disagreable was the bowling OF
wildcat not far off.
We tried to look on the bright side of
things, but it was hard work; we would
keep thinking of home and what they
were doing there. Mrs. Campbell, who
was an invalid, was probably sitting in
the corner of the porch that was most
sheltered, and mamma pacing the terrace
with Fife, wondering what made me SO
late.
| And 90 the sun set, and the twilight
deepened, and night came on; and with
it the queer summer night noises, which
| one don't mind at home, safe in bed, but
objects to most decidedly out in the
woods alone, particularly if wildcat
leads the concert.
They made such din, that, tired as I
was, I could not for long time get
wink of sleep. rather envied Will, who
slept as peacefully through it all as if he
was at home in his own bed.
After a long time I got used to the
noise and dropped off. do not think
dreamed anything, but woke up about
half an hour before dawn with the idea
that mamma was calling me, SO sat up
with start, and oh, how dark and lonely
the woods were. The concert had stopped
and all was as still as death. The silence,
I think, was worse than the noise.
turned to Will, who had not changed
his position, and felt almost inclined to
wake him to keep me company. I am
glad now that did not do such selfish
thing. At last the sense of utter loneli-
ness got the better of me, and leaned
my head on my arms and cried, yes, cried
hard, although was twelve years old, and
big for my age. I never felt SO badly in
all my life. So cried for mother and I
cried for home, and felt better for it.
When I was pretty nearly through, I
heard a faint little noise. I stopped and
listened, and then / heard faint little
peep, such lonely, forsaken, homesick
little peep, that it went straight to my
heart and cut like knife.
| or course knew what it was, and it
sent me right down into the blues again,
just as was getting better, when re-
membered how the mother bird had cried
that afternoon when we robbed the nest.
And then I thought of how those poor
little birds must have felt, out away from
home all night, as long as / felt SO badly
myself, and how much more helpless they
were than we, till wondered at, and des-
pissed myself for being SO heartless and
cruel. And then came the thought of
my mother, and of what she would say If
told her fancied I saw her face grow
grave as she said:
"Ohl Ned, Ned; did not think my son
would do so mean and so cruel thing
It made me feel awfully bad, and made
up my mind that just as soon as it was
light enough would put them back in
the nest il had to walk ten miles to do
it. AS soon as it was light enough TO see,
I went to look at my prisoners, and OH
what sight met me. One Of them was
dead and the other was crying piteously.
What if one of us had died that night on
the mountain side? Think of poor man.
ma or Mrs. Campbell if Will or I had
been brought home dead.
With great lump rising in my throat
tried to dig some worms for the remain
ing bird. found few, but he refused
to eat them. So with heavy heart
picked up the handkerchief and started
out to look for the nest, leaving Will still
sleeping. I found it, hardly mile away,
so L climbed up and dropped the live
birdie into the nest, and the dead one
wrapped up in the handkerchief again,
and buried it tenderly at the foot OF the
tree Then turned to come away with
lighter heart.
just as | did SO the sun came up over
the hills, and there burst from the forest
the most beautiful music had ever heard.
At first it was low and sad, as though the
birds we're singing requiem over the
grave of the little thrush, then more
voices joined it, until it became glorious
chant, which followed me all the way
back to where Will was sleeping.
As soon as he woke we started for the